


show a little heart

by scribespirare



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor is a butcher not a doctor, Blood, But only briefly mentioned, Daddy Kink, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gore, Implied Cannibalism, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Organ Removal, Pet Names, guess who wrote another gore fic!, its me!, so many fucking pet names...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:00:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26204602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribespirare/pseuds/scribespirare
Summary: Alastor decides to take his and Angel's relationship to the next level.aka, the moment from the Alastorcast where Alastor takes Angel's heart, only I made it romantic
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 143





	show a little heart

**Author's Note:**

> this has been sitting my wip for a while and finally got around to posting it!

“Angel dear, do me a favor please?”

The demon in question glances up from where he’s peering into the fridge, head cocked ever so slightly to the side. “Sure babe, what’s up?”

Alastor motions for Angel to follow him, and with one more quick glance at the fridge and a shrug, Angel does so. “Ya gonna tell me what yer up to?”

“In due time,” Alastor replies, unlocking the door to his office and ushering his partner inside. It’s a tidy little space in the hotel that Alastor has altered to better suit his needs; namely, the walls have been soundproofed and the luxuriant rug on the floor spelled so as not to stain. He’s also set up for today’s activity by clearing his desk, a handsome wooden thing, and dragging it into the middle of the room.

Angel eyes the set up and then raises an eyebrow. One set of hands closes the door behind himself and locks it. “If ya wanted some office sex, all ya had to do was ask,” he says, jumping up to sit on the edge of the desk. He swings his feet idly. “Nice of ya to clear the desk beforehand. Wasn’t very fun laying on a stapler last time.”

Alastor can’t help a soft laugh at the memory, but he shakes his head. “I’m afraid I have something else on today’s agenda, darling. Do you trust me?”

The swinging legs still and Angel’s eyes narrow slightly. “Ya know I do. What’ve you got up yer sleeve, Smiles?”

“You’ll see. Now strip and lay back for me please,” Alastor responds cryptically. He can already feel his heart starting to beat a bit faster at the thought of what he’s about to do, and he can’t help but him to himself a little as he takes his coat off and drapes it over the back of his desk chair, tucked off to the side and out of the way. The gloves join it. Then he carefully rolls both of his sleeves up just past his elbows.

When he turns around, Angel is laid back on the desk just like Alastor had asked and something warm courses through him. They haven’t been together that long in the grand scheme of things, but Alastor can admit the emotions between them are much stronger than he ever thought they could be.

Strong enough that Alastor has been dying to create a physical memento, so to speak.

“This seems like it’s gonna get kinky,” Angel purrs. He stretches his arms over his head and pulls one foot onto the desk so he can spread his thighs comfortably. “Ya sure ya didn’t just want some midday sex?”

And really, Angel makes a beautiful picture all laid out like that. His form is slender and graceful and though Alastor has never been one for the physical he can still feel his body respond to having such beauty on display for him. Like a feast. An offering.

“I’m positive, darling, though I will say you _are_ quite the sight like that.”

Angel positively preens under the attention, running several hands down his body to accent his curves. “Thank you, daddy.”

“You’re not going to tempt me like that so you might as well stop,” Alastor laughs, even as he has to turn away to fight down his reaction. He uses the excuse of grabbing his supplies to calm himself but the urge to _devour_ still sits heavy in his stomach when he approaches the desk. It’s a familiar urge. The same one that started him down the path of murder all those years ago back when he was still alive. But it’s also different with Angel. It’s hunger and need and bloodlust yes, but it’s driven not by the animal urge to hunt and consumer. Rather, by the more human emotions of love and desire. Things he’d never previously thought himself capable of.

“Would you like to know what I have planned for you?”

“Yes, daddy,” Angel says with a smirk, arching his back and reaching out to grip Alastor’s wrist gently. Alastor shakes the touch off, narrowing his eyes at his partner.

“Stop that. You won’t sway me off course today, darling.”

That earns him a pout, though they both know it isn’t real. “That’s what you said last time too. And then you fucked me on the lobby couch where anyone could walk in and see us.”

“Yes, and then I had to apologize to Charlie for it later,” Alastor sighs. He sets the objects he’d grabbed onto the desk next to Angel; a black leather tool kit, and an ornate glass jar. Angel pushes up onto one elbow to glance at both before Alastor pushes him forcefully back down.

“Stay down. I’ve decided I want your heart, Angel, so today I’m going to take it.”

Angel blinks those huge eyes of his, clearly processing, before his gaze drops back down to the tool kit. They’ve played in this realm before, though not often. Alastor has that _hunger_ after all, and it is oh so nice to indulge with a little blood and viscera. But this is new. Alastor’s never pushed so far, so hard, and he’s certainly never taken trophies (beyond the occasional mouthful of course, how’s a demon supposed to resist?).

“Oh,” he finally says, soft. “Um. Are ya sure?”

“Of course. Are you okay with it?” Alastor returns.

Angel sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, clearly debating, and Alastor attempts not to fantasize about biting into that lip until it bleeds. Finally Angel smiles at him, a little tentative. “Yeah. I can’t imagine givin’ it to anyone else. Kinda like the idea of ya keepin’ it in here and showin’ it off.”

Alastor can feel his own grin stretch too wide for his face and a sharp riff of jazz music disturbs the air around him in his excitement. “Yes, I had the same idea! Very good. Lay still for me now, Angel of mine. This will hurt.”

Angel huffs a laugh. “Of course it will.” But he obediently wriggles into a comfortable position and then holds himself very still. “I’m surprised you’re willing to do this on your desk,” he comments idly as Alastor digs through his bag for the proper knife.

“Blood is actually quite good for the wood,” Alastor informs him, then makes a small noise of triumph when he finally finds the scalpel he’s looking for. This will take precision after all. “Deep breath in now,” he says softly.

Angel draws a slow, deep breath in, his chest rising with it, and Alastor presses the scalpel to the space between his collarbones. As Angel lets the air out, Alastor draws the knife slowly, carefully downwards. Despite the exercise Angel still winces and Alastor hushes him gently.

“We’re only just beginning, my love.”

Angel makes a small noise, something that might have been ascent but is too pained to be recognizable. The fur on his chest is quickly turning red with blood as it runs freely from the incision. Alastor’s always loved this part, the first cut, or bite, or tear. The way the victim’s eyes start to glaze over when they realize exactly what they’re in for. Angel’s eyes are clear though, watching Alastor avidly .

Alastor finishes making his incision, a long line from clavicle down around to Angel’s ribs on the side of his body. Then he begins the arduous process of carefully detaching the muscle underneath the right side of Angel’s chest from his skeleton. Once that’s done he’ll have created a sort of flap that can be pulled back and out of the way, giving him plenty of room to get to Angel’s heart.

“You know, there are usually quite a few more screams when I do this,” Alastor says. The radio on his bookshelf, red and black, personalized, has been playing soft jazz for a while now.

Angel tries to smile but his face just screws up into another grimace. There are tears starting to form in the corners of his eyes but they haven’t fallen yet. “This is Hell, babe, and I ain’t soft. I’ve faced worse.”

“I know, my love,” Alastor reassures. His movements are precise and methodical as he detaches the muscle, head cocking one way and then the other so he can keep an eye on what he’s doing. It wouldn’t do to slip and cut through Angel’s skin after all. “Granted, I’m being quite careful with you. Most of my victims aren’t afforded such niceties.” His voice trails off as he grabs a small hooked tool and uses it to pull the flap he’s made so far back. If he’d tried to do it with his hands all the blood would have made the task too difficult. A lesson he’d learned the hard way back when he’d first started this little hobby of his.

With a few more short strokes he detaches enough muscle to be able to expose the entire right half of Angel’s ribcage. Despite how he’s actively crying now, his breathing is steadier than what Alastor is used to dealing with, which he greatly appreciates as it’ll make it that much easier to be precise.

“Usually I prefer a more _brutal_ approach,” Alastor continues conversationally as he grabs a wide bone knife. The idea is to cut a section of his ribs out, directly above his heart or as close as Alastor can manage without damaging the organ in the process, so it can be easily extracted. “There are occasionally teeth involved.”

Angel manages a weak, wet laugh, damp lashes fluttering closed. “I can only imagine. You know you can be rough with me though, babe. I like the idea of you sinkin’ yer teeth into me.”

As does Alastor, but he just hums quietly as he slips the bone knife between two ribs to get started. “I want this to be different,” he admits. “You’re not just another piece of meat to me, or an enemy to defeat. You mean more. So I’m going to treat you like I’ve never bothered to treat anyone else, and you’re going to enjoy it.”

“Al.” His wrist twists as he pivots the knife, putting force behind it to saw through rib. “Alastor.” The demon finally glances up from his work, hands stilling. Angel’s eyes are open again and he’s staring at him with the most love struck expression Alastor has ever seen; it’s especially beautiful with his fur wet from tears and his eyes full of pain.

“Get down here and kiss me right tha fuck now, Al,” Angel demands. “That’s one’a the sweetest goddamn things you’ve ever said ta me.”

Alastor carefully sets his tools aside and does as he’s told, one hand finding Angel’s cheek to stroke it gently. It’s a gentle kiss, especially for them considering how much Alastor loves to bite and Angel’s enthusiasm to indulge him; a mere press of lips and mingling of breath, a brief slide of tongue against tongue. When Alastor pulls back he’s pleased to see a bloody hand print on Angel’s cheek, distorted slightly by his fur, as well as Angel’s smile. “Thanks.”

“Think nothing of it,” Alastor replies softly, lingering close for a moment. “You deserve fine treatment, my love, and nothing less.”

“Mm, yer so good ta me,” Angel murmurs, eyes closing again. “Get back to it, Smiles, or I’mma pass out before yer done.”

Alastor laughs softly, straightening up and grabbing his knife once more. “Yes, dear. Though I promise I have ways of waking you if you do fall unconscious.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

They fall into silence, interrupted only by the music still playing from the radio, Angel’s pained breathing, and the wet noise and occasional crack of bone as Alastor works. Before long he’s finally cleared enough space to work with and Angel’s heart is bared to him.

Funny that something so important can be so small. It’s no bigger than Alastor’s closed fist, a mass of deep red muscle quivering with life and blood, so easily ruined. He has a brief mental image of putting it to his lips and sinking his teeth into it, feeling the way it jumps and leaps as the muscles contract desperately. Of tasting that sweet lifeblood and savoring it on his tongue, knowing who exactly it belongs to. He’s positive it would be leagues over anything else he’s ever eaten, the sweetest ambrosia.

But that’s not his goal here, as wonderful as that would be. Perhaps, once Angel has healed completely in the strange way that demons do, and a new organ has grown, he can talk his dear into letting him eat that one. But this one, at least, must be preserved.

“This will take a while, I’m afraid,” Alastor warns lightly, setting aside the bone knife in favor of needle and thread. If he wanted he could just cut the heart out entirely and sew Angel back up while his chest cavity fills with blood. But it would be highly uncomfortable for Angel, and healing would take quite a bit longer. Or so Alastor has been lead to believe by a few medical textbooks he’d found. Unfortunately, there are simply too many veins and arteries to clamp and stitch each individual one closed, but he can do the major ones at least.

Like most butchers, sitching isn’t a skill that used be in his repertoire. It simply isn’t in the job description. But he’d picked it up specifically for this purpose, and his hands and fingers are sure as he goes about his task. Angel is quiet the entire time, his breathing evening out now that Alastor is working on a part of his body that he can’t actually feel. He’s still awake though, eyes occasionally opening to watch Alastor.

By the time Alastor is done he’s quite glad he never went into a medical field. Tearing people apart is so much simpler than trying to put them back together again apparently, and Angel is literally the only person he thinks he’d go through all this effort for.

Once the main blood ways have been stitched shut, Alastor goes about the much easier task of severing them and extracting Angel’s heart. It’s heavy and dense, quivering in his hand, and if he weren’t eager to get Angel closed up again he’d allow it die in his palm. Instead he transfers it to the jar, already spelled to preserve it, and grabs yet more thread.

“I think I’m gonna need a nap after this,” Angel murmurs, fighting off a yawn immediately after. It makes Alastor laugh softly as he settles the flap of skin and muscle back into place and ensures the edges line up properly.

“I imagine so, darling, considering your body isn’t functioning properly now.”

Angel hums in response. “Yer gonna want to do this again, ain’t ya?”

Alastor nearly fumbles his first stitch but manages to keep it together. “Well aren’t you astute. How did you know?”

“The way you were starin’ at my heart,” Angel replies, sounding amused despite his apparent exhaustion. “Looked like you wanted to swallow it whole.”

“I did. I do.” The words come out low and the radio in the corner jumps in octave and intensity before he catches himself. Alastor clears his throat. “But not this time. First I have to prove that I can treat your heart kindly.”

“You should use yer teeth next time,” Angel says. “That’d be hot as fuck.” And Alastor swallows hard because he _hungers_ and here Angel is telling him to indulge himself. Not now though. Not for a while. He will have to be content with the beautiful piece of flesh trapped in glass that he has now.

“Perhaps I will,” he says lightly, and then steers the conversation elsewhere.

Once the last stitch is in place, Alastor cleans them both of blood, though his shirt is basically ruined, and wraps Angel’s wound up. The office will need a thorough cleaning and anyone who enters without him there will surely think it a crime scene. But Angel comes first, so Alastor helps him up to bed and gets him settled in.

“My heart better be on display front an’ center when I come by again,” Angel warns, only half-awake as Alastor carefully pulls the comforter over him. “If it’s off to the side I’m kickin’ yer ass.” His eyes are closed and he’s drifting off almost before the last word is finished.

Alastor can’t help but smile affectionately. “Yes, love,” he replies, though he’s unsure if Angel actually hears him. Nor does he know if Angel feels the kiss he presses to his cheek, how he lingers because the fur there still smells of blood despite how Alastor had cleaned him up, but its the thought that counts isn’t it?

The jar is placed on his desk for every visitor to see and balk at. Angel writes his name on it in glittery pink marker. 

**Author's Note:**

> don't forget to come check me out on [tumblr](https://scribespirare.tumblr.com/)! i also have a few other radiodust fics here on ao3 for you to read ;)


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